On Children's Play

Oft, when the child in wanton play—
Exerts his little pow'rs,
And busy, trifling, toils away
In sports the circling hours:

We smile to see his infant mind
So eager, so intent;
But growing years new follies find.
As much on trifles bent.

Youth has its toys, when pleasure's charms
The fond pursuit invite:
But pleasure mocks th' extended arms;
Vain shadow of delight!

What are the joys of riper age?
By time is folly cur'd?
No, trifles still the heart engage,
And vanity matur'd.

If glitt'ring riches tempt the eyes,
An envy'd, valu'd store;
Thus children shells and counters prize,
And hoard and wish for more.

Or if aspiring fame employs
The eager, gazing train;
The paper-kite of sportive boys
Is not more light and vain.

Unsatisfied, and tir'd at last.
We must resign our breath,
Life's empty cares and follies past.
And ev'ning close in death.

Thus children "weary of their play,
With fretfulness oppress'd,
Throw all their little toys away,
And gently sink to rest.

Happy the mind, by heaven inspir'd
To scorn earth's empty toys;
And with divine ambition fir'd,
Pursue sublimer joys!

Then, when the cares of life are o'er,
The parting soul shall rise,
And scenes of happiness explore,
Immortal in the skies.